


#24: Don't Linger in the Doorway: In or Out

by Knitwritezombie (Missa_G)



Series: 100 Rules for Adults (That Clint Barton Never Learned) [24]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint goes to college, Clint's non-traditional childhood, Gen, Phil is awesome, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Smart Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 08:28:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2501210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missa_G/pseuds/Knitwritezombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil's home on a rare night off, but his asset is lurking on the street, in the rain, outside Phil's building.</p>
            </blockquote>





	#24: Don't Linger in the Doorway: In or Out

Phil was aware that Barton had been pacing outside his apartment building for the better part of ten minutes. He’d first caught sight of his asset when he’d gone to refill his tea, and had watched him for a moment through the small kitchen window.

It was a pretty nasty evening. The overcast day had spun up into a full storm, and Phil was enjoying the sound of the rain with a cuppa and a favorite novel.

Phil let Barton pace outside in the wind and rain. Of course, he’d called down to the door man to keep Barton from getting picked up by the cops.

They’d only been working together for a couple of months, and while they got along okay, they didn’t really know each other, though Barton seemed to respect Phil’s decisions in the field, especially once Phil had demonstrated that he was willing to listen to Barton’s input on a given situation. So, whatever Barton wanted that left him pacing the sidewalk outside of Phil’s building at 11 pm instead of just buzzing to be let in, Phil was going to let him work it out for himself. 

He turned his attention back to his book, the apartment quiet other than the click of the electric kettle keeping warm and the sounds of the storm outside. Phil lost himself in the story, not coming out of it again until he went to take another sip of tea, only to find his mug empty and the glass cool against his palms.

(Phil saved the delicate glass mugs for use at home; he preferred them, but SHIELD was really more suited to durable plastic double lined cups like his favorite Tervis ™ cup, or one use paper cups)

Even the kettle had switched off, and Phil peered out the window again while he waited. 

Barton still paced. Phil couldn’t make out many details, but he could see that his asset was wet and probably cold, and it looked like he had something clutched in his hand. With a sigh, Phil pulled down another mug, considered for a long moment, then left it sitting empty on the counter while he grabbed up his phone and called down to the doorman again. 

“Hi, Charlie, it’s Mr. Cole in 2F,” Coulson said. “Could you please let in that young man that’s pacing outside the building and send him up here?”

“Of course, Mr. Cole,” Charlie answered. 

“Thanks, Charlie,” Phil said before hanging up. He was going to miss Charlie when he retired at the end of the year. The man was old school, respecting the privacy of the building’s tenants. He made another cup of tea for himself and waited until there was a knock at his door. “It’s open,” he called.

The door swung open, but Barton didn’t come inside. Instead, he stood dripping in the hallway. He was soaked, Phil could see, his light jacket clinging to his well-muscled form, and his jeans were pretty much plastered to his legs (and Phil tore his thoughts away before they could start to ponder what the back looked like). 

Phil looked at Barton over the top of his cup. “You gonna come in, or just stand there? I’ve got tea, cocoa, coffee, or something stronger? Also, maybe a towel?” he offered.

“I don’t want to get your floors all muddy,” Barton muttered. He did, indeed, have a soggy piece of paper clenched in his left fist.

“The carpet can be cleaned,” Phil said patiently, trying to coax the other man in. “Come on, you wanted something to be standing around out in this mess all night.”

Barton looked like he was seriously considering bolting back to his quarters at SHIELD (yes, Phil was well aware that Barton lived on base. But he seemed happy, so Phil was going to do anything about it. Yet). 

“Clint,” Phil said softly. Barton looked up sharply. “Leave your shoes in the hall. Come in, and I’ll find you a towel and some dry clothes, and make you something warm to drink while you change. I’ll throw your clothes in the dryer, and if you want to talk, we can do that. If you just want to sit here and stare into space with me, we can do that, too,” he offered. 

After a long moment, Bar-no, Clint nodded. When he bent to unlace his boots, Phil went back to his bedroom and dug out a pair of sweats and the largest long-sleeved shirt he had. It would have to do while Clint’s things dried. 

When Phil came out of his room, Clint was still hanging in the doorway, just barely on the inside of Phil’s apartment. Phil handed over the clothes. “Bathroom’s straight back,” he said. “Laundry’s right next to it, just throw your things in the dryer. Tea, coffee, cocoa?”

“Um. Tea,” Clint said. “Or whatever you’re having,” he amended in a rush.

Phil nodded and pointed down the hall. There are clean towels in the cupboard,” he said, and watched as Clint moved down the hall, and yes, the backside of his jeans clung just as much as the front.

With a shake of his head, Phil went back into the kitchen and made another cup of tea. He handed it to Clint when he came shuffling out of the bathroom a few minutes later. “Milk or sugar?”

“Oh. No, thanks,” Clint said, still oddly hesitant, but he accepted the cup, curling his hands around it before taking a sip. His hair was still damp, though it looked like he’d toweled it dry. The shirt was obscenely tight on Clint, but Phil heard the tumble of the dryer in the background.

Rather than make it a request or an order, Phil just stepped into the living room and settled in the recliner, assuming (correctly, it turned out; he was learning his asset after all) that Clint would follow. The younger man sat uneasily on the sofa, perched on the very edge like he was about to be scolded for being on the furniture. Phil settled back in his chair with his own cup and waited for Clint to relax. The silence between them wasn’t tense, exactly, though Clint was clearly on edge about something. But Phil was a patient man, and he waited.

After several minutes, when Clint didn’t say anything, or move more than needed to drink his tea, Phil picked his book back up and resumed reading. Sort of. Mostly, he watched Clint over the top of his book while he pretended to read. Clint relaxed minutely, as if Phil’s return to his evening signaled an acceptance of Clint to be in his space. 

It was another ten minutes of page turning before Clint began to speak quietly. “When I was first recruited and put into training,” he said softly, his voice not carrying beyond the small bubble of Phil’s living room, the sound of the rain and dryer still easily heard over the baritone voice. “One of the things they had me do was get my GED.”

Phil nodded. He was aware. He had also seen the notation in Clint’s file that it was highly recommended they get him into some kind of higher education. All of his instructors said he was extremely bright, just lacking in formal education. Phil knew he was a brilliant tactician and was capable of doing complex calculations in his head as he shot, so it hadn’t really come as a surprise.

“Agent Symes helped me apply to a couple of colleges,” Clint continued after taking a deep breath. “And I got in. To all of them.”

“Congratulations,” Phil said, sincerely, now having an idea of what had Clint so on edge.

One side of Clint’s mouth twitched up in a grin. “Thanks,” he said, and Phil could tell that no matter what else he was dealing with, he was also pleased with the results. “I, uh, don’t know what to do, now,” Clint continued. “I know SHIELD makes allowances and in most cases even pays for employees to get more education. But…I don’t know that…I don’t know if I can…”

Ah. That cleared things up.

“You don’t have to jump straight in to the deep end,” Phil said, choosing his words carefully. “There are a lot of options available.”

Clint nodded. “I think that’s the problem,” he said, a hint of a self-deprecating smirk on his face. “I don’t think I’ve had to make a decision this big since…well, probably ever.”

And that, Phil thought, summed up Clint Barton. He thought nothing of the decisions he’d made in the past, because they had been a matter of survival. Now, faced with something he could just do for himself, he had no idea how to proceed. It also explained why Clint chose to remain living in the dormitories on campus. It was familiar and safe, and he didn’t have to choose anything else.

“If it were me?” Phil offered, and Clint nodded. “Take one class. See if it’s for you. Decide which school you want, maybe the one with the most options if you want to stay classed as a field agent, then look at the courses. Pick one that seems interesting.”

“And if I decide I want to be a full time student?” Clint asked.

Phil smiled. He was actually happy to know Clint was considering it, even if it might mean benching one of the best assets he’d worked with for a while. “Then we take you off the field duty roster, I get new assets or Fury gets me running more complex ops from Mission Control, and we only deploy for special circumstances while you’re in school. You can be an analyst or trainer while you’re in school so you maintain your agency clearance level,” he explained. “You’re not the first field agent to have to figure this out.”

“Did you, sir?” Clint asked, again, revealing just how perceptive he was. 

Phil nodded. Fury had recruited him straight out of high school, but Phil had also slowly accumulated enough college credits to earn his BS in Psychology. “I stuck to the non-traditional route,” he said. “I didn’t like being stuck in a classroom.”

Clint nodded, as if he could picture that. “It’s kind of a huge decision, especially since I don’t have a great track record when it comes to traditional education,” he said wryly.

Phil grinned, relieved that Clint was starting to relax. It also looked like he was starting to crash. “You don’t have to decide anything right now,” he advised. “But you know you can talk to me about things. You didn’t have to stand around outside.”

Clint ducked his head, sheepish. “Yeah. I know. I just…I didn’t want to intrude. It’s not like we get a lot of free time,” he said with a shrug. 

“It’s fine,” Phil assured him, just as Clint let loose a jaw cracking yawn. 

“Sorry, sir,” Clint said, looking a little embarrassed. “I should get out of your hair.”

“Yeah, no,” Phil said. “I’m really not letting you go back out there. Our luck, you’d end up with pneumonia. Stay here; the couch is comfortable.”

“Are you sure, sir? I could get a cab back to base….” It didn’t really sound like he wanted to, though. Clint already looked like he was melting into the couch cushions.

“I’m sure,” Phil promised. He rose, and collected their cups. “Let me just find you a blanket.”

“Don’ need to,” Clint said. “’S fine.”

Phil ignored the protest, and ducked into his bedroom after leaving the dirty cups in the sink. When he got back, Clint was already dozing, listing slightly to one side, head back against the couch cushions. With a fond shake of his head, Phil left the blanket next to Clint on the couch (he knew better than to put it over him), collected his book and reading glasses, and turned out the lights as he retreated back to his bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, I'm bad at tags. Like, seriously. So if I've missed something, anything, triggery, not triggery, whatever, please let me know?


End file.
